She left then and I picked up Jim’s note.
Things are looking a lot brighter. Have had good chats with Jack Smythe. He was never interested in ideals. He just lived his own life and did the things that came naturally. If I had my time over I’d take a leaf out of his book, go on the road, go fishing and just live for the day. That is what I missed. I did exactly as my father said - ‘Take responsibility, stand up and be counted.’ Now I ask, what was the point?
Fuck you, Jim.
I have requested a meeting with senior management.
I had the weirdest dream last night. I dreamt there was a graph that ran the length of the passage drawn right onto the wall. At one end was ‘Birth’ and at the other end was ‘Death’. People kept coming by and checking it with a pad and pencil - officials they were, not nurses but definitely officials, like lab technicians in white coats. That long graph up the passage had ups and downs the length of it, little peaks and troughs that you had to walk past to see. When the line came to Jim’s room it went right up and over his door and Jim was very amused to see the amazing crescendo of his life.
I woke in the dead of night, thinking about it, thinking about what a human life is - that long line on the wall. Whether we are born or not born; it’s really just a freak of nature and I wonder if we ever stop to think how unlikely it is. In my opinion, if you happen to hook one - a life - then it’s worth playing it carefully so you don’t lose it. It’s really a pretty good catch; it’s not like dragging up a plastic bag. And you need to use the present, not just live in it. Because despite the past and future being ordinary concepts that help us make sense of the present, they can also be modified by it. At least that’s what Pat says.
After breakfast I polished my shoes. I put on my best trousers and shirt, and pulled on the new navy blue V-necked pullover that Chris gave me.
And then at the last minute I left the wheelchair in my room. I walked up the hall as if my legs were as good as anybody’s. No-one saw it but before I entered the big common room I leaned against the wall to steady myself. Then I marched right across that room, as good as any man. Bronson was grinning madly and for a moment I noticed the wide gap in his teeth. He actually stood as I went by. Craig recognised me immediately. He beamed and called out, ‘Jaaaaaack.’ At least I think that’s what he said. Dooley whistled as if he’d seen a miracle and Pistol Pete laughed. ‘Give it to ‘em,’ he said. ‘Stick one up ‘em for me too!’ Even Clem lifted his wobbly head. Everyone was there, but of course, not Jim.
A few of the ladies looked up to see what was going on and I caught Pat’s eye. I no longer saw a look of censure; instead she just nodded soberly. I’ve come to like her and I think I might have judged her a little harshly. I must ask her what she thinks about my take on aging; that ‘years’ have nothing to do with it. In reality, there’s only a biological change and you’re as old or young as your mind and body let you.
I marched right on through that room and up another passage to the front office. I knocked and pushed the door open without waiting for reply. And there sat Matron Collier, Jan Osborne, Dell Williams and two others I have never met, a man and a woman. I stood there in front of them all, to show I meant business - I gave the impression I could stand unassisted all day.
‘This is Jack Smythe,’ says Collier. ‘Mr Smythe is the one who led the group …’
‘We know who he is,’ says one of the managers.
They offer me a seat.
‘No thanks,’ I say. ‘First I must state why I am here. And if my visit is wasted, you can tell me to bugger off and I will leave without troubling you further.’
Then I outline my plan. I point out how residents in the west wing get certain privileges. Of course, I say, they pay more, but should that be reason enough to ignore us? I explain how we might get some privileges as well, without huge cost to the camp, I mean, establishment. I explain what benefits there might be to us with access to the field next door, what we might do there if the camp, I mean, establishment would see fit. For example, we could grow a garden, I say. Matron Collier could plant rows of gardenias if she liked. Collier fixes me with a dangerous look. We could plant our own vegetables, I say, or maybe just sit in the sun. And we could play simple games - like petanque, for instance.
‘Unfortunately it would require far too many resources which are already in short supply,’ says Osborne. I had the distinct feeling the comment was aimed at the managers rather than me.
‘Who do you imagine would oversee this operation?’ the manager says.
It’s a good point, one I hadn’t thought through. I try to conjure an answer; I’m thinking quickly on my feet.
Nothing comes to mind.
‘I will,’ says Dell.
I stare at her.
‘I’m only point five anyway. I could manage it outside my regular hours.’
All eyes are now on her. Then one of the managers looks at me.
‘Please sit down, Jack,’ he says.
Christopher is taking some annual leave at Byron Bay. Before he left he swung by to bless me again, say goodbye and to drop off some things. I asked him to bring over a box of old tennis balls that I once saw in the hall cupboard at his place. He thinks I’m mad.
‘What for?’ he asks.
‘They need them in the craft room,’ I tell him, but of course, they don’t. To be honest I don’t know why I want them, but you never know. Also, Lisa rang and asked me if I wanted to go to Werribee Park. Of course I accepted. I want to see the zebras. It is commonly believed that a zebra is a black animal with white stripes. This is not so. But neither is it a white animal with black stripes. Where the skin is black the hair is black and where the skin is white the hair is white. Therefore it is truly a black and white animal, fifty-fifty.
How many stripes does a zebra have? Well it depends on the species and I happen to know that there are at least three. One has twenty-six stripes per side, another has forty-three and a third species has eighty. And it also depends on whether you are counting the white stripes or the black stripes as more than likely there will be one more stripe of one colour than the other. Careful observation will also reveal that the stripes run perpendicular to the long axis of the body, i.e. vertical on the torso and horizontal on the legs - it maximises its stripiness. Of course, I will confirm all this at Werribee.
And I seem to be getting a stream of visitors. First Pat came by again.
‘Twenty years, Pat. Twenty years we’ve got in here.’
‘Good behaviour, we could be out in five,’ she says.
‘In that case I think my talk to the managers could have extended my stay to thirty,’ I say.
‘With a good whipping every Friday.’ She gives a little smile. ‘In the meantime,’ she says, ‘you could crack your own whip. And I’d like to help, Jack.’
It looks like Pat’s going to be alright. I wonder what she’d think about sharing a flat? It’s not beyond the realms, is it? If my legs were up to it.
When she was gone, Dell dropped by and I think she was surprised to see me sitting in the chair rather than in my wheelchair. Not that I intend giving up my wheels just yet. She had a letter from Monash University addressed to me. I tore it open immediately. It wasn’t much. It began, Dear Mr Smythe, I enjoyed your dissertation … I have passed it along to a colleague in the Faculty of Science.
But what really interested me was these words: The idea that ‘time may not exist’ is growing among physicists, especially in universities such as Oxford and MIT. The letter was signed Professor Roger Persson, School of Philosophy and Bioethics.
‘Were you thinking of doing a correspondence course?’ says Dell. She doesn’t know about Pat’s efforts.
‘No, I wasn’t,’ I tell her. Then again, the idea hadn’t crossed my mind. Perhaps I could do some study. There must be something I could learn.
Then she says, ‘Craig’s moving,’ and smiles knowingly.
It so happens that last week when I sat down to talk to al
l those Eden chiefs I also said, ‘And another thing, since Jim has now vacated his room I’d like to request that it be turned over to Craig. Otherwise there should be an enquiry.’
‘Craig Weston?’
‘Is that his name? The cerebral … the disabled lad. He, of all people, should have a decent room - and I’m thinking if he had Jim’s room I could keep an eye on him, so to speak, if it became necessary. And I could explain to him why it is that everything in the universe spins.’ For a moment they just stared. And then they nodded gravely, as if they needed to know as well.
Dell takes my washing bag and heads off. ‘And look after those petanque balls,’ she says. ‘You might need them sooner than you think!’
I’m not holding my breath, but I might as well keep on the case. Who knows what the outcome might be? Who can predict? Christ knows I never saw this place coming, let alone be organising a game of petanque in a paddock with a muddle of geriatrics. The grass would need to be short, of course. And we would play in teams; that’s what we did at The Grace. We’d need more balls and I’m glad Pheona left the box. How the fuck did she know?
I can see it now. I’d start the proceedings by telling everyone - It’s the only game you can play with a ball in one hand and a glass of chardonnay in the other! That should cause some mirth. And then a bit of spiel: You might be lucky. In every game there’s always the chance of a lucky shot. That’s why it’s a good game - you don’t have to be an expert. You just have to try, that’s the important thing.
I’d get old Clem to throw first - and make sure we’re playing downhill. Then Dooley will want to throw - no doubt he’ll regard himself as a gifted ‘natural’. Beat that! he’d say. When I was at the pub I used to …
Ivan, of course, will want to run off with the jack while Pistol Pete will chuck the bloody ball twice as far as anyone else. Look at her go! he’d shout. Pat will play for sure and maybe a couple of the other sheilas. Joe mightn’t have the strength to put it away from him, but he can make up the captive audience along with Craig on his wheely bed. Saaaany daaaay, he’ll go, Saaaany daaaay.
And I feel certain old Jim Southall will be there - in spirit. Maybe he’s already on his way back to earth as somebody else. Who knows?
He’d love petanque. Give me a crack at that, he’d say. Allow me to demonstrate the art of the game. And may I inform you that I learned everything I know from Jack Smythe, up the passageway at Eden.
Bioethics. Not listed in the Oxford Dictionary.
Smythe's Theory of Everything Page 25